


hold me 'til it ends

by ashes_of_roses (KendraLuehr)



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Sexual Content, healing through sex, sex and grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraLuehr/pseuds/ashes_of_roses
Summary: Grief can bring even the most unlikely of people together.Sexual content warning; Ben x Mary
Relationships: Benjamin Tallmadge & Mary Woodhull, Benjamin Tallmadge/Mary Woodhull
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	hold me 'til it ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thucydides_groupie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thucydides_groupie/gifts).



> **The title is a lyric from the song "End All" by The Narrative:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNGxQsyC0Dw  
> Feel free to listen along for extra angsty fluff! I didn't have a true timeline in mind for this fic, but honestly, it could be any time since Abe almost got himself killed nearly every episode lol.

The sloping sun pulled down, down, _down,_ much like Ben’s heart as he dismounted from his horse. Times like these were a testament to his endurance – to his refusal to accept the inevitable.

Never taking his eyes off Whitehall, he drew a quivering breath and swallowed. Mary wouldn’t understand. Any time he’d encountered her in the past, she had been relatively hysterical, always concerned with Abe and his well-being. How could she possibly endure this news? How could _he?_

As Ben moved up the steps, it felt as though he were marching toward his own execution. His heart drummed steadily within his breast, and with a low, uneven exhale, he doffed his hat and knocked.

Mere moments later, the family servant, Aberdeen, opened the door and peered up at him in expectance.

Ben tried his best to keep his face from crumpling. “Good evening,” he greeted, his voice tight. “Is Judge Woodhull home?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No, sir. He and his grandson are on a daytrip. The Missus, however…” Here, she gestured behind her as a silent invitation.

Ben gripped at his tricorne, nervously rolling his thumbs over the fabric. “Thank you,” he murmured, ducking his head and stepping inside.

Aberdeen showed him back into the sitting room, and once Mary looked up from her sewing, the perfunctory smile she wore wiped clean from her face. “Major Tallmadge?”

“Mrs. Woodhull,” he greeted, sparing her a dutiful nod. “I hope I’m not imposing.”

Unsteady, Mary set aside her stitchwork and rose from her seat. “Is something the matter?” she asked, overlooking his question.

Ben tightened his grip on his hat. “I…” Swallowing around the words he wished to blurt – _your husband, my **dear, dear friend** is gone – _all he could manage was a hoarse, “May we speak privately?”

Alarmed, Mary looked in between him and Aberdeen with clear apprehension. Her fingers knotted in an anxious, jittery attempt at stability, and then she nodded at her servant. “You may be excused, Aberdeen. Please fetch some tea for Major Tallmadge and myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She curtsied, and then left before Ben could deny the request.

With her departure, the room fell deathly silent – _unbearably_ silent.

The two near-strangers looked at one another, and as Mary observed Ben’s attempt at nonchalance, her chin quivered and she stepped toward him with determination. “Something’s happened,” she accused. “Don’t deny it, Major – I’m not stupid.”

Avoiding her gaze, Ben frowned and traced his fingers over the trim on his coat. “There’s been an accident…”

Mary tasted bile. “What sort of accident?”

“Abe…”

“No.”

“Mary…”

 _“No,”_ she said again, only this time more forcefully. “You can’t tell me he’s gone, because he’s not – I _know_ he’s not! I still feel him in my heart! You’re supposed to _sense_ when the ones you love are gone!”

Tears gleamed in her eyes, and guilt-stricken, Ben’s own eyes helplessly welled up as he shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Mary, but Simcoe…” He winced at the name, clenching his teeth. “There was an ambush. Caleb and I were unable to get to Abe in time.”

Mary swayed a moment, unstable, and Ben quickly rushed forward before she collapsed. He caught her by the elbows, and then she sagged against him with a sharp, mournful shriek. Her wail tore through him far worse than any bayonet, and against his better judgment, Ben gathered her into his arms and fiercely cradled her beneath his chin. With a hoarse, shuddery screech, Mary buried her face into his waistcoat and bawled, several ugly, choking sobs catching against the fabric as she struggled to stay upright.

Ben swallowed and tightly closed his eyes. It hurt – oh God, it _hurt_ – and each one of her screams lanced through his heartstrings akin to tiny, hacking knives.

Furious, Mary finally twisted herself free and shoved him. “This is all your fault,” she seethed. “You _knew_ Simcoe was a danger, and yet you never finished the job!”

Almost greedy for punishment, Ben allowed her to push him yet again. “I know,” he whispered, his eyes glassy. “I take full responsibility for-”

 _“Hang_ your responsibility!” Mary growled. “Do you think I give one _iota_ about your sense of _honor_ and _duty?”_

This time when she shoved him, Ben caught hold of her wrists and pulled her back into his arms, his own tears mingling with hers as they embraced in a mass of raw, quivering grief.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered woefully against her temple, “so, _so_ sorry…”

Mary sagged in his embrace and whimpered, choking and sniveling as he passed his fingers over her hair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be – it was supposed to be _Abe_ returning to Setauket, and _Abe_ holding her as though his very life depended upon it…

But then, had he _ever_ held her with such desperation?

Embarrassed, Mary wiped her eyes and pulled away, unwilling to look at Ben as his hands fell to her shoulders.

“Let’s sit down,” he cajoled, his voice low and soothing. “I think a cup of that promised tea would help.”

She nodded, though the look in her eyes was hollow as he took her elbow and led her into the dining room.

* * *

With the requested tea, both parties found themselves seated at the table – Ben at the head, and Mary at his side – and awkwardly, the former looked between his lap and the teapot with increasing dismay.

“Tell me your fondest memory.”

Rolling his lips inward, Ben huffed and ran a hand down over his face. “I’m not quite ready to _call_ them memories, if I’m being honest. I still expect…I-I mean…”

“I know,” Mary whispered, her voice wobbly, “but tell me anyway.”

Regarding her through pained, stinging eyes, Ben forced a smile and nodded. “When we were boys, we used to get in trouble with Old Man Samson a lot,” he began. “I suppose it was unkind, but his crotchety, embittered ways made him an easy target.”

“Much like Abe’s father,” Mary agreed, simpering. “What did you do?”

“Well, Caleb had the bright idea to scare him, so we all climbed into Samson’s root cellar and made a big ruckus. Samson believed us to be demons – or at least, he kept shouting, ‘Demons! _Demons!’_ – so he padlocked us into the cellar, and left us there for several hours.”

Mary suppressed a laugh. _“That_ was a fond memory?”

“Aside from having to piss inside a strange man’s root cellar, it was!” Ben said, finally caving to his own laughter. “Abe, Caleb and I weren’t a garrulous bunch, but down there, words were all we had to stay sane. We talked – about hopes, dreams, girls, whatever we wished – and I remember Abe saying he wanted to be so much more than his brother’s shadow.” Saddened, Ben looked down at his lap. “I only wish I’d gotten to tell him that he was – _is.”_

Mary drew a breath. With tears in her eyes, she reached over and laid her hand over Ben’s, causing him to jerk slightly and look up at her in surprise.

“I think I’m going to need something stronger than tea,” she whispered.

Ben nodded, cautious in his agreement.

* * *

It wasn’t long before they’d moved from tea to whiskey.

Despite it clearly being Judge Woodhull’s private supply, Mary helped herself to the bottle as if it were her very own. Sloppily, she topped off both of their glasses, then returned the bottle to the table with a dull, enervated _thwack._

“Will you let me see him?” she asked. Her eyes were pointed toward the floor, but Ben could detect the fear in her posture.

He cleared his throat. “Abe is being held at camp,” he softly allowed. “If I’d failed you in retrieving him as well, I don’t think I would’ve been able to show my face.”

Mary nodded, though her gaze was still on the oriental rug. “His death…was it peaceful?”

Ben winced. “Mary…”

“I just want to know,” she insisted. “No, I _need_ to know – was he in much pain?”

Shaking his head, Ben laid a heavy hand over hers and squeezed. “He wasn’t alive long enough for us to tell,” he whispered.

Mary’s bottom lip quivered, then she exhaled and nodded. “Good…that’s all I needed to hear. When are we heading to camp?”

“Whenever you wish,” Ben promised. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“No.” She shook her head. “As kind as that is, accompaniment isn’t necessary beyond-”

“I’m _going_ to,” he said more firmly. “Long ago, I made a solemn vow to Abe that I’d take care of you, should something happen, and I don’t intend to shy away from that responsibility.”

Mary swallowed, visibly startled. “Abe asked that of you?”

Ben nodded. “He did, yes. Despite his faults, he _did_ love you and Thomas – very, very much.”

Exhaling, long and slow, her eyes grew wet and she laughed softly in disbelief. “And here I was, foolishly believing that _he_ was the undedicated one. Perhaps if I’d put in as much thought and care-”

 _“Nothing_ you could’ve done – that _either_ of us could’ve tried – would have changed this, Mary.” Ben’s voice was soft, but stern. “He wouldn’t want you blaming yourself.”

“How can I not?” she weakly asked. “He’s my husband.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, and with a miserable little sob, she dropped her face into her hands and wept.

With a pained grimace, Ben rose from his seat and knelt down at her side. Taking Mary by the wrists, he lowered her hands from her face and forced their eyes to meet. “Abe loved you,” he murmured, gently interlocking their fingers. “Your marriage may not have been perfect, but that much I _do_ know.”

Mary sniveled, her chin trembling as her eyes roved Ben’s face. “He loved you too,” she whispered, voice raw.

Ben’s brow creased, and he ignored the brief stab in his chest at the reminder. “He did, yes,” he agreed, swallowing. “Abe was like a brother.”

Mary nodded and a small, fragile smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “He’d want us to be happy,” she decided. “He’d want…h-he’d want us to be comforted.”

Unsure of her approach, Ben forced a smile and mirrored her nod. “Of course,” he agreed, squeezing her hands.

With a tremulous shiver, Mary extricated herself and cupped his face. Ben peered up at her in confusion, and then suddenly her mouth was on his, needy and warm and desperate as her tearful breath caught between their lips.

Ben reeled from her touch and stumbled, his hands falling to her waist as she angled her mouth more strongly into his. Helpless and touch-starved in his grief, he met her tongue with his and fed the growing need for distraction – for feeling _good_ instead of the pain, the hurt, the _suffering_ – and he framed her face as her fingers curled through his hair and pulled.

“Mary,” Ben whispered into their kiss, groaning as she stooped to press her lips along his throat, “Mary, wait…”

“Can’t,” she whispered back, rolling her petticoats up over her knees. “Please, Ben…” Grazing her lips over his ear, she huskily reminded him, “You promised to take care of me.”

 _He had._ Eyes fluttering closed, Ben’s breath grew shallow and he traitorously leaned into her touch, hating how his body needed and _craved_ this at such a low, painful point in his life. He was pathetic – he was _weak,_ and as Mary’s warm, giving lips burned kisses along his neck, Ben took hold of her shoulders and forced his mouth over hers. A small, surprised sound caught between their lips, and then her arms were around him, drawing him closer as their kiss grew rough and bruising.

The pain was good – the pain was _necessary_ – and as Ben rose from the floor with shaking limbs, Mary hoisted herself onto the table and drew him in between her thighs. He touched his forehead to hers, but she didn’t seem interested in softness or affection. With fumbling hands, Mary unfastened Ben’s breeches and yanked down his fall flap, exposing him to her greedy touch as he groaned into her shoulder. Nuzzling into her neck, his breath caught and he swore low in his throat, bucking his hips as she began stroking his cock to a painful rigidity.

He whispered her name, and then she was guiding him to where she wanted him – _needed_ him.

Their eyes met briefly, and then with a choking gasp, Ben sank inside her and went weak in the knees, his face contorting in aroused anguish as Mary whined and rolled her hips. She was warm, wet and tight, and while he _should_ have felt nothing but guilt, the sick, depraved side of Ben somehow felt _closer_ to Abe by bedding his wife.

Mouth growing slack, he brushed his lips over Mary’s and shuddered, his grip on her waist tightening as he finally began to move. His harsh, almost _punitive_ thrusts drew several low, needy gasps from them both, and a grunt caught in his throat when Mary already started to spasm around his cock. She wasn’t finished, but the premature flutter left Ben dizzy and breathless.

With one hand on the table and the other snagging through her hair, Ben drew their lips together and groaned into her mouth, his brow creasing as he thrust inside her hard and fast. Despite the need for sensation, to _hurt,_ there was an undeniable softness in their kiss as they fucked, and for a moment he just held her, breathing shallowly as her legs gathered him up inside her. She gave him a pointed squeeze with her thighs, and then Ben finally acquiesced, their foreheads touching while he drove strongly between her walls.

A brittle cry caught in Mary’s throat, and she gripped at Ben’s arms, gasping and arching as the table creaked beneath their combined weight. Each time he thrust, the rickety table legs groaned in protest, and amidst the desire and grief that held him by the throat, when Ben looked down at Mary again, he was tempted to weep. This was the woman, the very _life_ with which Abe had entrusted him. Could he do it, Ben wondered? Could he keep her _safe and happy?_

Hips stuttering, Ben came with a strangled cry and Mary clenched around him, her cheeks pink and eyes bright as her nails dug into his arms.

He sagged against her and shivered. Pressing his cheek into hers, Ben felt an odd swell of affection, and then Mary’s lips were suddenly at his ear.

“Stay the night,” she pleaded.

The request took him off-guard, but he nodded.

* * *

They made love again in the morning. With his hands on her waist and Mary’s trembling, needy body writhing over top of him, she rode him hard into the feather mattress, their shared breath mingling with each kiss and muffled gasp. Ben was determined to be whatever she wanted, whatever she _needed_ to help her forget.

_It helped him forget, too._

Afterward, they laid in bed holding one another, content with only the sound of their soft, uneven breathing and the warm sunlight spilling in through the curtained window.

“You know, you’re actually very pleasant when you’re not shouting orders,” Mary quipped, a lopsided smile lifting her mouth.

Unable to help it, Ben gave a dry, raspy chuckle. “The sentiment is much reciprocated.” Turning his head to look at her, he ignored the sharpness in his chest at the sight of warm, honeyed sunlight bursting over her golden curls. Her fingers absently traced the strong curve of his jaw, and with a shaky breath, he curled his hand around her wrist and anchored her palm against him.

“We have to go back,” he gently reminded her.

Mary’s eyes grew wet, but she nodded. “I know,” she whispered.

“We can’t just keep pretending this is normal.”

“I know that too.” Face crumpling, she weakly added, “But can’t we keep ignoring it? Just for today?”

The unspoken _I’m not ready_ rang between them then, clear and painful like a mourning bell, and Ben swallowed before nodding. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

And when she drew her mouth back over his, shivering and desperate for him to fill her emptiness, he more than willingly opened himself up in supplication.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so apparently all of my conversations with thucydides_groupie are just going to end in fic nowadays, because the meta is just TOO GOOD to pass up. As much as I love Bong (Ben/Anna), we agreed that Ben/Mary would be more pure since it'd be the two of them raising Thomas together. Like yeah, Abe was a good dad and all, but he was NOT a good husband, so I'm all in support of this dynamic instead! I was disappointed that the show made Ben pretty mean to Mary, because it didn't seem in character. I don't think he'd treat a good friend's wife that way (regardless of his stress), but I digress! This fic was just wholly self-indulgent since I'm forever having to write my ships myself, haha. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! :)
> 
>  **Fan art found on my Tumblr:** https://musicboxmemories.tumblr.com/post/644996009120989184/a-long-while-back-i-wrote-a-ben-x-mary-grief


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